


Discorded Inflictions

by ThatRandomStrangerAtWalmart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beck Noir, Crack, Mentions of Character Death, One Shot, TBH I don't know how to tag this, maybe? - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRandomStrangerAtWalmart/pseuds/ThatRandomStrangerAtWalmart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a song inspired one shot, Discord. In which Dave is somehow Davesprite. (?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discorded Inflictions

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know how this happened. I'm going to post it anyway.

In a universe, where it itself is really just a insanely mystical frog, and the battle between light and dark is always active. The dark, you have been told by a close friend with a reliable source, is bound to win. It is univalent. And first, as you took in the flaming city and all it's blazing glory, you had refused to accept the information. But now, in a hellish world, you began to understand what he meant. On the ground, many bodies lay in tangled heaps of their own limbs and blood of various pigments. Your friends among them, including John, who explained the predicament to you. Trolls, dark imps, denizens, and humans alike slain, and you watched as dark red, sky blue, and lime green puddles gather around their mangled bodies.

"So.....not......cool" You choke out, blood spewed across your shirt as it also pools at your feet. Your ears ring with dying screams and crys for loved ones, vanquished. It harmonizes with the symphonic of silence and death, and how you wish to stop it. You know that you can not sit idly at this, but alas, you cannot move at all. Next to you, a puppet lays broken and tangled in it's own strings. You've never been a fan of puppeteers, but you have a nagging fear. Maybe, someone else is pulling the strings?

"Noir" you manage acidly, hate burning through your blood depleted viens. "Are we your pray alone, Noir? Or are we just a stepping stone, to get to the throne?" You wonder in an anger isued blaze. With new strength, you bring yourself to a standing position and off the ground. 

"What did we do, to deserve this?!" you shout into the blackened sky, knowing it can hear you. "You've taken our world! You've enslaved us, this is anarchy and all it has brung is your own tyranny!" No answer. You curse it. You curse it with all your being, and take in this terrifying work of art before you. Blood swirls in a disrupted and corrupt rainbow, creating a beautiful yet horrid display. 

You let out pent up frustrations and a crude sense of wanting vengeance into a scream, and it echos loudly off the ruins of the once beautiful golden city. You know they will come. Those accursid imps in harlequin clothes, you hate them. Hate them all. You feel yourself healing, with your own power of will. Your back arches, allowing a large pair of ragged wings to protrude between your broad shoulder blades, and shines in the dwindling light that was once pure. You can hear them approaching, and pick up your sword. The katana glints mischievously, feeling your soon-to-be blood lust pumping through you, and you wait. You wait, knowing they will come. Oh yes, and he will follow.

You are ready to end this, itching for a fight.

You will win, you know you will. 

You have to.


End file.
